


The Dead Nation

by MangoStarfish



Series: Magic and Zombies [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Apocalypse, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, POV Rick Grimes, POV Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle Being an Asshole, Walkers (Walking Dead), Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:22:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23134585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MangoStarfish/pseuds/MangoStarfish
Summary: When Harry died only two short years after he defeated Voldemort he chose to stay in the realm of the dead as Master of Death and all it entailed. Years later, when the natural order of one world falls out of balance, causing the dead to walk around even after their souls pass over, Death sends Harry on an assignment to figure out the cause.But when Harry goes missing he is forced to send help in the form of his best Reaper, even though he has complicated history with Death's master. Surviving the apocalyptic world with as little magic as possible is something even Tom Riddle can't do alone, and to find Harry, Tom is going to need some allies.Rick Grimes is shot and he wakes in an apocalypse several months later. Luckily, he meets a helpful, albiet apathetic amoral and rude, stranger named Thomas Gaunt who agrees to help him find his family in exchange for finding someone named Harry Potter, who may hold the key to ending the apocalypse.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Rick Grimes/Shane Walsh
Series: Magic and Zombies [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1714336
Comments: 22
Kudos: 116





	The Dead Nation

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own TWD or Harry Potter. No money is being made from this fanfiction.
> 
> Warning: Graphic descriptions of Violence, Zombies, Corpses, and Death.
> 
> AN: The idea of Voldemort in the Walking Dead universe as a reluctant anti-hero instead of a villain came to me while I was high. This is a work in progress and may never be finished. The idea is to cover the walking dead universe to Alexandria, possibly to Negan, but we shall see.

When he woke, disoriented and parched and in so much pain he could hardly think past it, Rick was utterly alone. The vase of flowers sat at his bedside, dead and dried out, and the clock didn't move, nor fid anything beep. The hospital was silent. Everything pointed to the impossible conclusion that he had been abandoned, but he could swear Shane was just there seconds ago. He sat up, dizzy, his chest on fire, but when he forced himself to stand he hit the floor. Pain lanced through the bullet wound, and his arm throbbed. From the floor, his throat so sore it felt difficult to breathe, he called out.

"Nurse!" He rasped, "Nurse!" 

No one came. He lied there a minute or two, then tried to stand again. He struggled but failed. Feeling slightly defeated, he went to rest a moment, but there was a horribly loud cracking noise, like a car backfiring or a rifle shot, and when Rick turned his head to look, it was to the sight of the barrel of a gun and scuffed military boots. He made a noise, a strangled unintentional squawking sound, an aborted no wait, his life flashed before his eyes, but then...

"Well, you're not dead." Said a man with a deep British voice in an unconcerned tone. 

Rick sputtered, rolling over to stare up at the man. He wanted to say something intimidating or brave but all that came out was a frog's croak of, "What the fuck?" Followed by coughing.

The man shrugged and shouldered his rifle, finger still dangerously close to the trigger as a warning, then he walked out of view and started rummaging one handed through drawers and cupboards and throwing random stuff onto the bed. Rick forced himself to his feet, ignoring the spinning room, and he clasped the IV stand tightly for balance as he catalogued what he could see of the stranger. Pale skinned, tall, thin, and broad-shouldered. His hair was cut neatly and longish, with waves of inky black that curled up on the nape of his neck. He took in the black biker jacket, torn black jeans, steel-toed boots, and various knives and guns with the sort of morbid curiosity that was only born from being an officer of the law.

"How long you been out?" The stranger questioned as he continued scavenging through the cupboards carefully. Bandages, alcohol prep pads, medical tape, and gauze took up a small portion of the top half of the bed.

Rick decided to answer his questions and listen to him, because unlike himself the man was armed and clearly on a mission, and just because he didn't seem to be in any real danger didn't mean Rick was safe. Rick was feeling weak, thirsty, and so hungry. He felt like he needed a long nap despite having been comatose for an unknown amount of time. If the stranger decided to become aggressive, Rick would have no chance. Rick pressed the nurse call button half-heartedly and wasn't really surprised when it didn't work

"I got shot in March." He answered, unsure of how long it had been exactly, but knowing from that small vision of Shane and the long dead flowers that it had been more than a few weeks at least.

The man turned to stare at him with an incredulously raised brow, and Rick noticed that he was younger than he had originally thought, though not so young as to cause concern for the stranger beyond the fact that he was heavily armed, but definitely younger than Rick himself was. Late-twenties or early-thirties at most. His keen dark eyes drew Rick's gaze, Rick had never met anyone with eyes like that, really dark brown yes, but never void-black. It was an unusual color. The stranger's angular face and perpetual no-nonsense frown gave him a decidedly vulpine bearing, and his eyes added a menacing predatorial edge to his face without him expanding any effort. On his left cheekbone he had a deep pinkish-red recent scar in an almost cresent moon shape, along with a half-healed badly-stitched split lip, and the dusky yellow-purple remains of a black eye.

"What happened to your face?" Rick asked and the stranger snorted derisively but didn't answer as he turned back to the drawers. Rick was a little surprised when nothing seemed to be locked.

A few seconds later, the stranger tossed a set of grey hospital scrubs on the bed, along with a bottle of water, a protein bar, a Glock and a few clips. "Shane a friend?"

The question startled him. "Yes?" He rasped as he grabbed the bottle of water. "How do you know him?"

The man passed him an unfolded piece of paper with a hastily written note. Rick had known Shane since they were in seventh grade and his handwriting hadn't improved much over the thirty years they'd know each other. It wasn't long, just three short urgent sentences, written so hard the paper was torn in several places, and underlined three times. _Rick, Go to Atlanta. Dead walking. BE CAREFUL!! - Shane._

Rick stared at the note almost reverently. Had the stranger not been there, had he stayed alone as he'd been when he woke, Rick would have missed the supplies left in the top drawer for him. "What's he mean by dead walking?" Rick asked carefully, fiddling with the bottle cap.

"Exactly what it says." The stranger answered. Rick opened his mouth to request an elaboration, but the man continued a moment later, turning around to face him as he leaned on the counter. "Sometime in early April the Virus hit. Dead people started walking about and attacking the living. No one knew where it originated or how it started. My partner, Potter, came all the way down from the ECDC to the CDC in Atlanta check it out. A couple months later everything went to hell in a hand basket, the government started shooting everywhere up, the refugee centers fell, and we lost contact when he didn't show up at the rendezvous. I managed to find someone crazy enough to take me from London to Miami by boat. I've only been stateside about three or four days, but it looks like you lot are worse off than we are. I'd have stayed across the pond if it weren't for Harry. It's probably sometime in late June or mid-July, early August at latest. Dates are a bit fuzzy. I was on my way to Atlanta when I saw this place and decided to make a possible supply run."

"And this virus makes corpses walk?" Rick asked sceptically.

"Yes." He responded, "Which in itself would be more gross than scary, but they also have an insatiable appetite for human flesh. They'll eat you alive, and there is nothing left alive in them so I wouldn't recommend leaving someone alive just because you knew them. No mercy. They're just bodies. You can outpace a small group easily on foot if you keep a brisk pace, but a big group, or a hoard, they get all riled up and you won't likely survive without some sort of miracle or act of Merlin. You get bit or scratched you'll turn into one, just a walking ravenous corpse, and I won't hesitate to put you down."

The phrasing was odd, but Rick got the gist. If the dead were walking though he doubted he could survive alone. Still, he had no words to say, so he took a few slow sips of the water. It was heavenly.The man gestured to the hospital bathroom. "You should take advantage of the water, it's cold but water is a luxury right now. Drink, eat, get yourself washed and changed. I'm not a doctor but I'm good with a needle and I know enough basic first aid for most situations. I'll get that wound cleaned up, but then we have to go."

Rick decided listening to the man with seven knives and two guns was a better plan than trying to get himself out of the situation with one gun and a pair of hospital scrubs. "I need to go home. My family...."

"They're dead." Rick realized that the cause of the black eye was actually very obvious. The man was an asshole.

"You don't know that." Rick protested. "But I'll make you a deal, take me home and then to Atlanta to find my people and I'll take you to the CDC." The man gave him a sceptical look. "The police station has guns and running hot water." He bargained.

The man snorted. "Alright." He said. "You've got a deal. I'll take you to your people, if we find them, and you'll take me to Potter." They shake hands. "My name is Gaunt." He said.

"Rick Grimes." He responded. "Nice to meet you Gaunt."

"Likewise." Gaunt pointed to the hospital bathroom. "Go. I'll see if there is anything else worth grabbing."

Rick nodded and headed to the shower. It may have been cold, but at least he could start to feel a little more himself. 


End file.
